I Had An Imaginary Friend
by comealongpond
Summary: Not wanting to accept that the Doctor has left her again, Amy begins imagining that he is still with her.


**A/N: More post-God Complex Amy angst! Don't read if you don't want to be depressed.**

* * *

Amy had a way of coping with the Doctor's absence. A foolproof way that had worked for over fourteen years now. All she had to do was believe, and he would be there. It didn't always work – there were a couple of years in her late teens when she had almost stopped believing, but then he had shown up again and replenished her hope – but most of the time, it was perfect.

Unhealthy. That's what her parents – or, in her other memories, her aunt – had called it. While most children believed in Santa, or even God, she believed in the Doctor. And honestly, was there any difference? Reasonably speaking, the existence of the Doctor was not any more unrealistic than that of any sort of higher being.

There were periods of time where, everyday, she would pray to the Doctor. She would pretend he was there with her. She would imagine conversations in her head in which she told him about her day and he would listen, enraptured, smiling like he was in love with her.

Of course, she was just a kid, then. As she grew up, her methods of devotion were more subtle and far-between. She would think about him from time to time. She would stop on her way out of her room and look at the drawing she made when she was little. She would press her fingers to her lips and then touch the cardboard replica of his magic blue box.

Never did she stop wishing for him to come back, and so far, it had always worked.

Amy's imagination was not like that of an ordinary girl. She brought her parents back into her life just by remembering them. She had called for the Doctor on her wedding day, and there he was.

Amy wasn't particularly religious or spiritual, but she had absolute trust in her abilities to bring back the Doctor. Every time she saw him after he had been away from a while, she would smile to herself and think "_it worked._"

So when he left for the last time, she didn't think too much of it. She knew she would get him back. In fact, after she was done saying her goodbyes, she had strode into her and Rory's new house, smiled at her husband and asked if he would like to go out to eat somewhere.

It didn't take long for Amy to slip back into her old habits of imagining the Doctor was there with her. Whenever she was lonely, she would imagine him walking right along beside her, his hands in his pockets, pointing out some of the wonders of Upper Leadworth. "There's _nothing _interesting in Leadworth, actually," she would correct him, laughing, and he would shrug, muttering about how he was afraid to call it dull again.

She would talk to him while she was watching television, complaining about how daft celebrities were these days. The Doctor was clueless when it came to the current pop culture – too many centuries blended together in his head, she expected – so he would begin rambling and she would cut him off, because maybe she was just a tiny bit interested in this program after all.

"Who's that plate for?" asked Rory, the first time Amy had set out three plates for dinner instead of two. The Doctor was usually too busy saving the universe or settling alien disputes to come to dinner, but sometimes he was free, and she had to make sure she saved a place for him in case he wanted to come.

"The Doctor," said Amy, sitting down and loading her own plate up with mashed potatoes. He never did show up to dinner, though – he was too shy, he said, and he didn't want to intrude on Amy and Rory's personal time. "You know, in case he comes back," Amy said, when Rory looked at her like she was crazy. "If he ever comes back, I want him to feel welcome…"

Rory nodded, and Amy didn't mention that in her mind, the Doctor had left this morning to go stop the civil war on the planet Ulchan – not five months ago, forever.

He really was back to being her imaginary friend. _That's all he is right now – imaginary,_ she would remind herself, especially after having a particularly vivid hallucination. He seemed so real, though. She knew she had a strong imagination – but she could literally see him, hear him, sometimes even feel him…

And the next moment, he would vanish. He wasn't there – he never had been – and Amy was left feeling even emptier than before.

She treated their spare guest room as the Doctor's room. Luckily, Rory didn't go in there often. It just looked like a normal bedroom, but Amy would sit in there, sometimes for hours, having full-fledged conversations with her best friend.

It was her way of dealing with the loss, she guessed. She didn't have to experience the pain and regret that came with goodbyes. She could keep their relationship going for as long as she liked. The magnificent Amy Pond wouldn't settle for anything less.

xx

"I swear, you've never been this bad before," Rory muttered after hearing her address the Doctor while she was making breakfast. She usually tried to stay quiet when Rory was around, but everyone once in a while something would slip out. He was referring, of course, to her past history of inventive imagination. He had been there through it all – back when it seemed as if the Doctor really _was _nothing more than a made up story in Amy's head – and he was right. As much as little Amelia would obsess over the Doctor, she never _actually _believed he was there with her.

How ironic it was that people thought she needed mental help back then, when she was far worse off right now. Amy, swallowing the lump in her throat, replied, "I didn't mean anything by it. I just picked up some habits from living on the TARDIS so long." She didn't sound as sure of herself as she usually did.

She gobbled down her breakfast hurriedly, without really tasting anything.

xx

"They're going to send me back to therapy, aren't they?" Amy asked the Doctor, her chest breathing heavily, back in his room.

"No…of course not…" the Doctor said. He had been lounging on the bed, messing with the setting on his screwdriver, but upon hearing her worry, he threw the device aside and sat up. "Why would you think that?" His voice was soft and comforting. It made you feel like he cared about you more than anything else in the universe.

Come to think of it, Amy wasn't sure whether or not the Doctor knew he was just a hallucination. "They – think you aren't real," she said.

"That's what they said when you were a kid, too. Didn't stop you then, and I know it won't stop you now." Amy laughed, albeit nervously, at that. The Doctor stood up, pulled her into a hug. Memories flooded back – the real Doctor embracing her, wishing words of comfort. This was almost just as good. "Listen to me, Amy," he said quietly. "I'm right here. You're okay."

"I know," she muttered, trying not to cry. She rested her head on his shoulders and closed her eyes.

A few moments later, a light knocking bought her out of her dream, and she heard Rory's voice from the other side of the door. "Why don't you come sleep in _our _bed?"

Amy murmured unintelligibly, pulling the covers against her. There was no way her conversation with the Doctor had been a dream – no, that must have happened before she fell asleep. She forced herself to get up, almost wishing to see the Doctor sitting on the floor beside the bed, keeping watch, giving her the protection she needed. But the room was vacant as she crossed it to go open the door.

xx

She didn't see the Doctor for a while. She kept waiting for him to show up again in the weeks to follow, but he never did. "Just because I have doubts sometimes doesn't mean I don't still believe in you," she muttered to her empty living room, as if he might be hiding somewhere, listening. She missed him. She needed him. It was bad enough not having the real Doctor here, but she couldn't go without seeing him in her daydreams, she really couldn't.

xx

_You rely on him too much. You rely on him too much and that's why he left you_, Amy told herself, sitting on the edge of her bathtub, watching the scissors she held in her hand open and close. She was trying to train herself not to think about him as much, because that's what he would have wanted. _It was all your fault he left in the first place_.

_I know it's my fault_, the other voice in her head replied. She couldn't get over him. She tried and tried, but she couldn't think about the Doctor without feeling an immense sense of emptiness, dread, and longing.

_Maybe he just didn't want to deal with your craziness. After all, even the Doctor in your imagination is running away from you. _"Just shut up," Amy warned, closing her eyes. All of her hatred and confusion was building up, like water overflowing from a tub. _You've done the very thing he didn't want you to – keep your faith in him. He would be so disappointed in you if he saw you now._

_I know_, replied Amy. She gazed at the scissors in her hands. With an inhale of breath, she took a lock of her hair and held it straight between the two opened blades. She squeezed her eyes closed. _Loves a redhead, our Doctor._ She remembered him stroking her hair, pressing kisses against it. What good would cutting her hair do? _You might as well not ruin the last thing he likes about you_.

She felt numb when she exited the bathroom, glancing at the man sitting on the bed and walking to the mirror without giving him a second thought. "Oh, Amy," he said quietly. She held her wrist against her torso so he couldn't stare at her. She could see his reflection in the mirror, the pain on his face. _He's not real he's not real he's not real_.

"You disappointed?" she asked quietly.

"Just in myself," he replied.

She rolled her eyes. What right did _he _have to make her feel sorry for _him_? She shook her head and willed him away.

She didn't step foot in the guest room for the next month.

xx

Christmas was hard for Amy, because everyone was supposed to be so cheerful, but she just couldn't. She put a good show for Rory (didn't she always?), but she wasn't really feeling very festive. Rory was good at sensing things like this, so he had chosen for them to spend Christmas evening alone, not spending any time with family or friends. Amy was extremely thankful for this.

"Spare plate, just in case?" Rory asked, holding one up. Amy couldn't help but laugh and agree. It was nice to know that he didn't think her behavior in the past was crazy.

The evening went alright, except for those bloody carolers, but at least that gave Amy a chance to release some of her pent-up frustration that she was withholding anyway. She was ready with her squirt gun when the next knock came.

It wasn't a caroler.

"Oh my god," she breathed. He didn't look like a hallucination. His expressions were so detailed, and the way her heart stopped was absolutely real. "My god, it's really you."

"I'm not actually sure how long…"

Amy was overwhelmed with happiness. It worked! She brought him back! Believing in him hadn't kept him away after all. All of her pain was worth it for this moment. "It doesn't matter," she said, grinning and shaking her head.

His look of shame blended into one of delight. He embraced her tightly. "Amy Pond…" he said.

"Doctor!" Amy squealed happily, squeezing him as hard as she could, wanting to make sure he was real. She hadn't felt truly happy in ages. It was like that empty place inside of her was finally filled. "Rory!" she called, letting go of the Doctor and looking back towards the dining room. "Rory, he's…he's here!"

Rory was already on his way, having heard her say the Doctor's name, apparently. "Amy," he said, stopping in the hallway and looking with concern from her to the Doctor.

"What - ?" Laughing a bit at Rory's response, Amy turned her head back to the doorway to find…nothing. Her heart dropped into her stomach. "Wait – where'd he go?" He couldn't have escaped already.

"Amy, there was no one there. Your voice was the only one I heard."

"No, I saw him! I…I _hugged _him!" Amy looked frantically around their doorstep, for either her Doctor or his box, but all there was was snow.

Rory's hand was on her shoulder; she whipped her head towards him. "I'm not crazy," she told him. "I swear to _God _he was here."

"It's alright, honey," he said, closing the door. He cupped her face gently and looked into her eyes, but she wasn't focused on him – her mind was still elsewhere. "I…I think it might be time we took you to see a psychologist."

"No…no! You're wrong, he was…"

"Amy, _no_," said Rory, employing a much harsher tone than he usually used. He wrapped his arm around her, trying to take her away from the door, but she struggled against him, kicking and scratching. She could see Rory's shocked face, but she didn't care. She finally pulled free, only to end up on the floor, crying hysterically, her hand resting on the backside of the door. Rory had left; he was calling someone on his cell; she could hear him. He would reveal what had happened and then sooner or later someone would come to take her away, to brainwash her, to make her relinquish her faith.

She had no chance of seeing him again, not even in her fantasies.

_Now you've really ruined it_. She couldn't move. She couldn't stop crying. She was completely powerless.

She had brought this breakdown upon herself. Amelia Pond – too headstrong to do what she was told. Always had to go about things her own way. Funny how the traits that the Doctor had admired most about her had ultimately led to her downfall.

xx

Amy had been in and out of mental hospitals, gone through numerous psychologists, and experienced countless more breakdowns. It was almost a year now, and she was still very far from recovery. It didn't help that she couldn't tell any of her therapists the whole truth about who the Doctor was – she had tried with a few of them, but it only made matters worse. She simply described him as her imaginary friend. There was no use in telling anyone that he really had been a real person – even if she got Rory to back her up, they wouldn't have believed her.

She pleaded with Rory to let her out of counseling, but he insisted that she needed to continue for a while – even if they didn't understand the whole story, they could at least help her get back in her right mind.

"And I get the impression you don't have faith in anything anymore?" her psychologist asked, looking over at Amy carefully.

It was true – Amy had slowly become the most pessimistic person ever. She had no hope anymore, not for anything. She was far beyond caring whether or not the Doctor would have wanted this for her – he had abandoned her, destroyed her, turned her into what she was now. Amy picked up at her bare fingernails. She didn't bother to paint them anymore – she didn't see the point. "Nope," she said. "It's kind of funny, in a way." She half-smiled, her eyes focusing on the white hospital walls. "Remember when you were a kid? And they always told you, you know – always keep believing, keep hoping, no matter how difficult it is. When honestly," she laughed, "belief is the most dangerous thing there is."


End file.
